Wednesday, February 12, 2014

A sarcastic cackle flew out of her as she leaned
forward and placed her forehead on the edge of the now overturned trunk. “How
long did you know about it?”

“Since before he left the last time.”

“Get out!” Madi rose and pointed toward the door,
but the man she had called friend and counselor for months didn’t budge. “I
said, get out. How dare you call yourself my friend.” Her voice caught and she fought
to contain the sob threatening to burst forth.

Jared stood slowly, his jaw slack and hurt hanging
in his gaze. He took Liz by the elbow and steered her toward the door. And just
before the screen shut behind them Gretchen flew out, apparently quite rattled
at Madi’s new personality.

It was then Madi retreated to the spare room. She
sat down on the smooth oak boards in front of another official looking
government issued box and removed the things inside placing them all around
her. A picture of Gage in his dress uniform that had been set on his casket,
the carefully folded flag she’d been given, and his beret with the 101st
emblem prominently gracing the brim. Then she found a small box containing his
dog tags and his wedding band. It was a miracle those things had survived the
blast. These things were the remnants of the man she’d believed loved her, the
pieces of a life that had never existed.

How could she have been so stupid not to have seen?

Blinded by tears she refused to allow to fall, Madi
opened the tiny box then closed it and clutching it to her chest stood. She
made her way back to the living room and wondered just how the hell she
reconciled the contents of the smaller box with the contents of the much larger
one.

Madi sank back to the floor and recalled the first
memorial she’d ever had to attend for one of Gage’s fellow soldiers. A seasoned
and crusty old Sergeant Major who’d seen fit to pull her and Gage under his
wing had come by the evening before the service and had a little chat with her
about her expected appearance and behavior.

“You never
let them see you cry,” he’d said. “One
tear. That’s all you allow to escape in public. Then you suck it up and move on.”

And she’d listened. With a brave face on, as Madi
sat among hundreds watching the young man’s wife clutch a folded flag to her
chest, the bright blue interrupted by blinding white stars a stark contrast to
the black she wore, Madi had let one tear trickle from behind the dark glasses
she wore. Then she’d tucked her emotions away and ignored them.

Some seven years later she found herself in the
position of widow hanging on to that damn flag like it was a piece of Gage
rather than a few yards of sacred fabric. And the Sergeant Major’s words came
to haunt her when a flood welled up behind lids squeezed shut against the
repercussion of seven guns firing in sync with respect and honor.

One tear.

That was all Madi allowed herself that day.

One tear her ass.

Who was anyone to dictate to her how many tears she
should shed? Who was anyone to tell her not to cry over a life lost because it
wasn’t proper protocol? Her husband wasn’t the only one to lose his life. Madi
had lost a life as well. And she knew now why her counselor had urged her to
stop suppressing her feelings and hiding in the dark to cry, had urged her to
allow herself to go through the process of grieving.

Because Madi needed to grieve. Needed to get past
denial. She needed to let go, get pissed, throw things. She needed to hate. And
damn it. Madi needed to cry. She needed to sob and wail and scream so she could
finally get through grieving and asking why and finally just accept.

Accept that yes, Gage was gone. He was never coming
back. And it was okay to admit that while she was sad the reason he would never
come back was because he was beneath six feet of cold, dark earth in Arlington,
she was glad he was no longer in her life.

Madi didn’t love him, hadn’t in she couldn’t
remember when. For that loss she also needed to grieve.

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